


Man it Feels Good to Feel This Way

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Fluff, M/M, as always genderfluid Tim, boys that don't realize they're in love until it slaps them in the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8916811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: Sometimes Tim speaks without thinking. Sometimes, when that happens, and he's days beyond tired, he admits that he likes Damian's hands.
Sometimes Damian admits things back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YunaDragneel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YunaDragneel/gifts).



> Based on the prompt "Imagine your OTP sleeping in the backseat of a car." It spiraled from there.
> 
> Also an Xmas gift! With lots and lots and _lots_ of love!

“That was exhausting,” Damian mumbled, letting his head drop back as the door shut. The car began to pull away, as Tim shifted next to him, turning and letting his cheek rest on the seat, staring out the window. He’d gone days with no sleep, and then had to doll himself up for the charity event- and was already thinking of all the work he’d still have to do upon getting back to the Manor, even if he didn’t try to squeeze in a short patrol.

 

He heard Damian yawn next to him, and Tim bit at his tongue, trying to keep himself from mirroring it.

 

“You did very well, master Damian,” Alfred called from the front. The privacy screen was down, and Bruce had chosen to ride up front with Alfred- but he was no doubt working. Tim could heard the gentle tap of his fingers on his phone. Probably wanted Alfred to catch him up on the night, on how Stephanie and Jason had handled the city thus far. “I did not hear of one incident where you poured champagne on a guest.”

 

Tim snorted, unable to stop himself, and he heard Damian huff. He didn’t need to look, he knew his cheeks would be burning. He’d been a  _ kid _ when he did that, and even while he was on his way out of his teens now, he hadn’t lived it down.

 

“I still do not see the point in these.” Tim could hear him loosening his tie, before it was tossed to the side and landed on Tim’s lap. Tim forced himself to straighten up, this time unable to fight off his yawn.

 

“Alfred, did you bring a travel mug?” he asked, wanting to rub at his eyes but knowing he’d smear eyeliner all over. And even if no one was going to see him now, that still felt like a damn shame.

 

“Afraid not, master Timothy. You have most certainly exceeded your caffeine limit for the day.” Tim heard Damian cackle, and turned, glaring at him.

 

“I am running on no sleep for  _ days _ ,” Tim pointed out, “and unless you want to know if these heels have a knife hidden in them, I’d cut the laughter  _ demon brat _ .” It all came out in a harsh rush, but Tim was at his wit’s end. He was  _ good _ at the public face bit, he was. But he was  _ tired _ and his head was throbbing now.

 

Damian glared, turning on the seat to face Tim, and vaguely Tim heard Bruce tell Alfred to close the privacy screen. That he had no interest in watching the kids fight. Again.

 

Tim narrowed his eyes at Damian’s stare, before Damian was leaning closer, peering at his eyes. “Your makeup doesn’t hide the bags under your eyes.”

 

Did he think that would hurt? “They’re designer,” Tim taunted, reaching up and pushing his hair back. “Now  _ zip it _ and stay quiet until we’re back and I’ve got some coffee.”

 

“You could sleep like a normal human being.”

 

“What would you know about being normal?” Damian reached over, shoving Tim at that. He didn’t move far, let his head loll to bump the seat, and Damian was up on his knees, trying to pin him against the seat. Except his grip was weak, and Tim could see the exhaustion in his eyes too. Maybe if he was running on twenty-four hours  _ less _ of exhaustion, he’d be interested in pursuing this. Because the little fights with Damian were  _ fun _ , got his blood pumping. Maybe if he wasn’t a bit terrified of the result, he’d look into  _ why _ . “We’re both exhausted,” Tim mumbled, “truce?”

 

“-tt-” Damian stared at him for another moment, before he turned, flopping down next to him. His drawn out sigh was agreement enough, and Tim watched as he squirmed, getting his jacket off and leaving that abandoned, next to him. He moved to his cufflinks next, but his fingers kept slipping. He growled, looking frustrated, and Tim sighed, forcing himself to straighten up.

 

“Here,” he said, reaching out and gently taking one of Damian’s wrists in his hand. “I’ll do it.” He worked the first link open, carefully pulling the diamond cufflink from his sleeve, before moving to the next. Damia watched quietly, and Tim pushed one sleeve up a little, got his fingertips to touch his warm, dark skin. Without much thought he dragged his fingertips down over Damian’s hand, along his knuckles. The skin was shockingly smooth here, unlike the callouses Tim knew Damian had on his fingers. They all did. “You have nice hands,” Tim said, very softly. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it- barely realized he’d  _ thought _ it, but he heard Damian’s little exhale. When he looked up, those jade eyes were staring right at him.

 

Tim felt color blooming in his cheeks. He forced Damian’s hand to flip, pressed the two cufflinks against his palm.

 

“Put those somewhere safe,” he said, pulling away before he could make a bigger fool of himself. “They’re expensive.” Tim knew- he had his own set from Bruce. Fifteenth birthday was gold cufflinks with respective initials- eighteenth was a set of diamond cufflinks.

 

Damian slid them into his pocket, as Tim settled back into the seat, folding his arms. The car was moving slowly, and he figured it was the traffic from everyone leaving the event. He just wanted to get out of the city and back to the manor, but at this rate…

 

“I’m going to close my eyes,” he finally said settling his cheek on the seat, facing away from Damian. Right where he began. “Just until we’re home.”

 

If Damian objected, he never said it. Tim hoped he wasn’t filing away what he had said, preparing an endless barrage of insults and remarks for him later. Because even if he liked the arguments, he had  _ meant _ that and he didn’t need Damian dwelling on the fact that Tim thought anything on him was nice.

 

Tim let his eyes fall shut, drifting not to sleep but that stasis between consciousness and not, where he was at peace and yet aware of himself. At least his eyes were shut, helping with the fact that they felt they were full of acidic cotton.

 

The car’s movements were lulling, and Tim was falling into focusing on them, when he heard Damian whisper so softly it was barely audible, “Drake?” There was a pause, and then, “Drake, are you awake?” Tim contemplated answering, and then decided against it. He was aware enough that if Damian was up to something he could react- but feigning sleep could mean keeping out of another almost-argument that he was too tired to properly enjoy.

 

There was such a long pause that Tim thought nothing was going to come of it- but then he felt the weight of Damian’s head dropping down onto his shoulder. He fought down his muscles’ reflex to stiffen, felt Damian snuggling in, his hand rubbing up along Tim’s arm.

 

“You’ll laugh if you see me like this,” Damian mumbled, and he sounded so tired, it made him seem young again. “Consider it payment for forgetting what you said about my hands.”

 

As he said that, Damian’s hand slid down Tim’s arm, traced over his own, before giving it a squeeze.

 

“Your fingers are soft,” Damian mumbled, and then in a voice that was barely awake at all, “they shouldn’t be.” He gave a little sigh, and Tim listened as his breathing evened out. And he realized Damian was actually asleep.

 

Tim drifted, after that- and only realized as the car stopped and he heard a door slamming shut, that he had fallen completely asleep. He cracked his eyes open, heard Damian grumbling in his sleep, before the door on Damian’s side was pulled open, and Alfred was bending over, leaning in slightly.

 

“So sorry to disturb you both, but master Wayne insists the car is not a suitable sleeping arrangement for the evening.” Damian’s eyes opened then, as Alfred added, “Although he was most pleased with the… tranquility of the ride home.” He gave a little smile, before straightening up and leaving them as they were, the open door letting in the night draft.

 

Damian blinked once, twice, before he was shoving himself off Tim, looking at him with large, shocked eyes. Tim straightened up, staring back, before Damian was reaching up, rubbing the back of his neck. He opened his mouth like he might have an explanation, before he shook his head, giving up completely. He grabbed his jacket and tie, turning and crawling out. Tim listened to his shoes on the pavement, heading for the manor, and simply sat there, staring at the space Damian had once taken up.

 

Finally, when the draft was too much, he sighed, crawling out himself. He shut the door, slowly heading for the manor. He locked the door behind him, listened to the silence around him- and knew from the heaviness in his bones he simply wasn’t going to get any work done. And as much as Tim hated to give into the beast, fatigue was a demon that even he caved to. Resigned, he headed for the stairs, gripping the railing tightly and carefully moving up them.

 

Once at the top he turned towards his bedroom, his footsteps heavier than he planned as he moved towards it. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, had this feeling on the back of his neck, the hair standing up, like someone was  _ there _ . He glanced down the hallway, and noticed Damian’s door was cracked open, and he was peeking out from it.

 

But the moment Tim’s eyes were locked on him, he was pulling back inside, shutting the door heavily. Locked securely away. Tim huffed, shaking his head and telling himself it was his imagination, whatever this was. That he could dwell on it in the morning, after some sleep and maybe some caffeine.

 

In the morning, it’d make sense.

 

*

 

Except it made  _ less _ sense when Tim woke up. He lay stretched out in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and swearing he could still feel the heat of Damian’s cheek, on his shoulder. Could feel his smooth, dark skin beneath his fingertips.

 

Tim sat up, shoving his blankets aside and standing up. He stretched, the tshirt that had shrunk in the wash that he  _ refused _ to throw out riding up well above his navel. He didn’t bother touching his hair, which stuck out in wild tufts and angles, and headed for his door, thinking he’d get some coffee and get his head straightened out.

 

He made his way down to the kitchen, headed straight for the coffeepot. It was blissfully on- and Tim remembered why he didn’t hate staying at the Manor from time to time. Alfred was  _ always _ on top of the morning coffee. He poured himself a mug, spooning too much sugar in, before hunting around for creamer. Once he had it stirred properly, the lidui reaching the very brim of the mug, he carefully lifted it up, taking a hefty swallow. It was still hot and burned the roof of his mouth and tongue, his throat on the way down, but he took another swallow, and then another.

 

And another. He just  _ needed _ something normal, and the buzz of caffeine was to him. Because nothing else seemed normal.

 

“Don’t forget to breathe.”

 

Tim nearly choked, pulling his mug from his mouth and looking at the doorway. Damian was standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, his undercut mussed up from sleep, tossed towards one side. Tim could see a little sticking up in the back.

 

“Mornin’,” Tim managed, as Damian walked over, silently grabbing his own mug. He poured coffee into it, lifted it and simply breathed it in, leaving it black. “You uh, sleep well?”

 

“Smalltalk in the morning is not your style,” Damian pointed out, taking a very small sip. “Finish your coffee.”

 

Tim looked down at it, before sighing and taking another long sip. He wasn’t sure if he should leave, if this was awkward- but he didn’t exactly know what to  _ say _ to Damian. Did he just continue to pretend the other night hadn’t happened?

 

Worse, he was overreacting and he  _ knew _ it. Nothing happened. It wasn’t like he stumbled into his bed accidentally and spent the night with him or-

 

Tim choked. That wasn’t the thought he  _ meant _ to have. He glanced up and Damian was watching him, one brow quirked up. Tim turned away quickly, chugging the rest of his coffee and going for a second cup. He tried to hide the fact that his hand was shaking as he poured the coffee, and was glad when Damian moved around him, heading for the fridge.

 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, pulling it open, and Tim didn’t look up.

 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I wasn’t sure if there was still a stash of cereal here for Dick that I could steal from, or if I was going to make something.”

 

Damian snort. “You cooking would mean father would need to have a new kitchen put in.” He took a sip from his mug. “And the cereal is  _ low _ . Grayson was here a few nights ago. It was very obvious.” Tim laughed at that, leaving his mug and reaching up, covering his mouth with his hand as his eyes nearly shut. He’d seen Dick devour an entire box of cereal without even  _ realizing _ it, and was sure the damage he had done would be massive.

 

He missed the way Damian was watching him laugh, how his eyes softened.

 

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Damian offered, and Tim straightened up. His hand fell away and he looked over at him.

 

“You’ll  _ what _ ?”

 

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Damian repeated. He set his mug down, leaning into the fridge now. “What do you want?” Tim didn’t say anything, and Damian came back holding a carton of eggs, lifting them slightly in a silent question. Tim could only manage a nod, and Damian moved past him, setting them on the counter and flipping on the stove. He grabbed a pan, setting it on the burner, before moving back around Tim, for the fridge to grab the butter for the pan.

 

“You… don’t have to,” Tim managed, as Damian moved back to the stove. The teen shrugged a shoulder, and Tim watched the way it curved, the lines of muscle on his biceps, exposed by his tank top.

 

He had a flash of getting his hands around them, and had to bite his cheek to bring himself back.

 

“I am aware of that,” Damian said, cracking an egg perfectly into the pan and setting the shell in the carton. “I am choosing to.” He glanced over at Tim, before turning his eyes down. “I am… sorry about last night.”

 

Tim swallowed, picked up his coffee just so he had somewhere to put his hands. “It’s okay. I mean, we were both tired.” He forced a smile. “Am I comfy?”

 

“Very,” Damian admitted, and he wouldn’t lift his eyes. Tim watched him flip the egg, before reaching up into the cupboard, pulling down a plate. He slid it onto the plate, before he cracked another one. Tim silently watched, trying to grasp the fact that Damian had just admitted that… and wondering if he was reading into this, if he was creating this tension in his mind… “Do you really find my hands appealing?”

 

Tim felt his throat closing up. He set his mug down, watched Damian look up- and  _ god _ when had he really gotten that gorgeous. Talia’s gorgeous eyes and her skin and cheekbones, Bruce’s dark hair and the way he  _ held _ himself was both of them perfectly combined.

 

“Yes,” Tim admitted, and Damian set his spatula down, lifting one hand up and looking at it. Tim took a breath, before he closed in, reaching in front of Damian and turning the stove off. He grasped his forearm, pulling him away, and Damian turned, leaned against the counter. Tim forced his arm to bend, lifting his hand so he could examine it. Damian splayed it, and Tim reached up with his other hand, tracing along the lines of his palm. “I like them the most when you draw,” Tim admitted, and maybe it was something he told himself he didn’t notice. “When you’ve got charcoal in your fingerprints and under your nails.” Tim traced his fingers up along Damian’s, before he pressed his hand flat to his, comparing them. Tim’s was smaller, and he wondered when Damian’s hands had stopped fitting in his.

 

Damian humored him for a moment, before his fingers slid between Tim’s, and they laced together. He pulled Tim’s hand to his chest, cradled it there. “You notice me,” he mumbled, and Tim  _ swore _ Damian was ten again. Ten and insecure and just  _ wanting _ someone’s attention and approval.

 

Wanting  _ his _ , and it had taken so long for Tim to come to terms with that. And maybe… maybe Damian hadn’t  _ stopped _ , Tim just thought he had.

 

“What’s going on?” Tim asked, not pulling away. Liking how warm Damian’s hand was, his chest. “What are we doing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Damian admitted. He pursed his lips for a moment, before adding, “And I’m not sure I care.” His thumb ran just beneath Tim’s, and Tim felt his heartbeat quickening. He pushed up on his toes, reaching out with his other hand and grasping at Damian’s bicep, steadying himself. The muscle and skin and scars felt just as he’d  _ hoped _ , solid and warm, and he squeezed, felt color rising in his cheeks. Damian’s own mirrored it, and Tim couldn’t explain the strange tingling, in his fingertips and spine and lips.

 

Except…

 

“Damian.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I want to kiss you.” He felt absurd saying it, but Tim realized with a bit of horror it was  _ true _ . It was true and suddenly the stupid enjoyment from their bickering and noticing these subtle things about Damian made  _ too much sense _ .

 

Damian’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward, a quiet  _ please _ leaving his mouth. Tim pushed up more, gripped his arm tighter as he closed to space, pressed his mouth very gently to Damian’s. It was softer than Tim normally kissed, slow and sweet glides of his lips that Damian very timidly tried to follow.

 

Damian Wayne was not  _ timid _ but Tim couldn’t find a better word, in that moment. He didn’t care though, because Damian’s mouth was warm as his hands, and the fact that he was following Tim’s lead, was trusting him, it made Tim’s chest go tight. He felt like he could have kept going, could have kissed Damian until their mouths were sore, but yet it didn't feel  _ right _ in that moment.

 

Instead he pulled back, just smiling. “So you  _ do _ like me,” he teased, and he watched Damian’s cheeks light up like fire. The teen looked away and Tim laughed, pulling Damian’s hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. “You’re adorable,” he mused, and Damian sighed.

 

“You’re pushing it.” He glanced over at the stove. “I may have to start breakfast again.”

 

Tim kept laughing. “Maybe I can help,” he said.

 

“You can hold my coffee,” Damian teased, and Tim felt like this was everything it had always been, and yet something that had been gnawing just under the surface, for some time.

 

“You know what,” he started, smiling until his cheeks hurt, “I can do that.”

 


End file.
